


roll in catastrophe

by downtheroadandupthehill



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Pocket Monsters: Red & Green & Blue & Yellow | Pokemon Red Green Blue Yellow Versions
Genre: Fire-type trainer!Enjolras, M/M, Water Gym Leader Grantaire, complete and utter ridiculousness, yes this is the Pokemon AU that no one wanted but I wrote anyway
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-12
Updated: 2013-09-12
Packaged: 2017-12-26 09:37:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/964416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/downtheroadandupthehill/pseuds/downtheroadandupthehill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras is stubborn about his use of Fire Pokemon, and the snarky Cerulean City Gym Leader Grantaire should really put a shirt on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	roll in catastrophe

“Are you sure about this, Enjolras?” Combeferre asks in concern, although the upturned corners of his lips betray his amusement. “Perhaps you should expand your use of varying Pokemon types before you—”

“I can do this,” Enjolras snaps, and the Vulpix trailing at his side flinches. He runs a hand along her soft, warm back to soothe her, and turns back to Combeferre. “My Pokemon are better trained than anyone’s, except maybe yours. And I defeated Bahorel in Pewter City.”

“Barely.” Combeferre sighs. “But you ought to reconsider. Grantaire pretends not to try, but he’s tougher than he seems.”

But Enjolras does not budge from the front of the Cerulean City gym, and Combeferre can only shrug—the gesture clearly reads ‘it’s your funeral.’ He considers himself a an excellent friend, for not outright laughing at the mistake his best friend is making, and knows that if Courfeyrac were here, he would not be so magnanimous. He pinches the bridge of his nose and tries not to sigh again. “Joly works in the Pokemon Center here. I think I’ll go visit him and wait for you there after your battle.”

Enjolras opens his mouth to argue further, decides against it because this is  _Combeferre_ , after all, and if they continue this conversation he will be inevitably talked out of fighting the Water Gym Leader and led out into some tall grass to complete more training and catch some new, non-Fire Pokemon. So instead, he nods to his friend, and steps through the gym’s door.

It’s cool inside, especially in comparison to the sweltering summer heat. Enjolras doesn’t mind warm weather, of course, not when his Pokemon thrive in it, but the cool air inside the gym feels refreshing anyway. Or it would, if the cool air were not caused by the enormous pool that comprises nearly the entire gym.

And Enjolras suddenly wishes that he’d taken swimming lessons as a child.

Behind him, his Pokemon crowd closer against the back of his legs, and he hears his Vulpix start to whine.

There is a slim wooden walkway across the length of the gym, leading to a larger platform in back. Presumably for battling the Gym Leader—who happens to be nowhere in sight. Although his Pokemon are splashing happily in the water, and not bothering to acknowledge Enjolras’s entrance.

“Um.” Enjolras hears someone clearing their throat further on, somewhere in the water. “Yeah, can I help you with something?”

He takes tentative steps forward, careful not to go tumbling into the pool—because there’s a giant Gyarados fast asleep in it, which means the water’s got to be at least twice as deep as Enjolras is tall and he doesn’t want to drown today. Closer to the platform meant for battle, he sees a head full of wet, dark curls poking up from the pool and very blue eyes blinking up at him.

“Are you lost?” the man asks him. “You look lost.” There’s a Vaporeon with a shining tail beside him, turning and flipping in an attempt to regain the man’s attention, now fixed as it is on Enjolras.

“I’m not lost,” Enjolras says defensively. “I’m here to battle the Gym Leader.”

“That’s me. Grantaire.” The Gym Leader, Grantaire, smirks up at him. “You know it really kills your ability for surprise when none of your Pokemon are in Pokeballs, right? I can plan exactly for your line-up, right away.”

Enjolras crosses his arms and huffs. “I don’t  _believe_  in Pokeballs. If Pokemon want to travel with me, and fight for me, they can do so of their own free will. Pokeballs are a tool of the ruling class, enslaving helpless Pokemon against their will. Besides,” he continues, “I don’t see you using Pokeballs, either.” He gestures to the Gyarados sleeping in the enormous pool behind Grantaire, and the Vaporeon that is practically purring beneath Grantaire’s stroking hands. There are Water-type Pokemon lounging all over the gym, and not a single empty Pokeball in sight.

“Well, that’s because it’s my gym,” Grantaire says smoothly. “And I’m a Gym Leader. If someone is stupid enough to come in here  _not_  prepared for my Pokemon line-up, it’s not like hiding them away in Pokeballs will make any difference.”

“Are you going to fight me, or not?” Enjolras asks, clenching his fists. He’s unable to mask his frustration toward the other man, and that fact only makes him more angry.

“Sure.” When Grantaire stretches out lazily in the water, hands behind his head, Enjolras tries very, very hard not to stare at the attractive shift of muscles in his chest and abdomen, and wonders if there’s some sort of requirement for Gym Leaders to be fully clothed, or at least wear shirts. If there isn’t one, there certainly ought to be. “I’ll feel bad about it, though. Seriously, who the hell comes to a Water-based gym with only Fire Pokemon?”

That has Enjolras’s Arcanine growling from behind him, hackles raised, and Enjolras feels his lips curve into a feral smile. “Doesn’t matter. We’re ready.”

…..

It’s a surprise to no one except for Enjolras when he winds up trudging to the Pokemon Center less than ten minutes later, his wet, bruised, and shaking Pokemon along with him. Even his own hair has gone wild and frizzy from the damp, and Combeferre gives him a fond smile as he approaches the front counter, where he’s been speaking to Nurse Joly.

Joly only purses his lips and sighs unhappily. “I’ll take a look at them in back,” he says.

“I told you I’d feel bad about it, didn’t I? And I do. But you insisted.”

Oh, yes. There was Grantaire who hadn’t even bothered  _to_ _put a shirt on_  to go with his wet shorts before following Enjolras to the Pokemon Center, barefoot and carrying Enjolras’s whimpering Vulpix in his arms. He’s dripping water on the clean tile, but Joly doesn’t seem to mind as Grantaire passes Enjolras’s Pokemon to the well-meaning nurse.

Joly heads back into the clinic with the Pokemon, while Combeferre and Grantaire exchange pleasantries, and Enjolras just glares at the both of them.

“I did warn him,” Combeferre says.

“Next time I’ll go easier on him. Maybe use my Magikarp?” Grantaire chuckles and turns to Enjolras. “There will be a next time, won’t there? You’re obviously the stubborn type, and I hope I haven’t scared you away forever.”

Grantaire slouches against the countertop, and Enjolras feels his face go red and hot as he realizes that the other man’s state of undress is even more distracting up close. His nose is crooked and his lips look chapped, but he’s tall and lean and perfectly fit from years of swimming and  _what in the hell when did Enjolras start paying attention to people’s appearances like this?_

That’s when he realizes that Grantaire’s cheeks have gone pink, too, and the Gym Leader abruptly straightens up and mutters, “Well anyway, I’ll see you if you come by again,” and heads for the exit.

Enjolras wants to say something to sound threatening and confident, but he’s still blushing and sputtering and Grantaire is gone, and Combeferre is standing there looking smug. As smug as Combeferre can look, anyway, because he  _never_  takes pleasure in any of his friends’ misfortune.

“Don’t you dare tell Courfeyrac,” Enjolras hisses, and Combeferre definitely does not laugh.

…..

When Enjolras approaches the Cerulean City gym for his second attempt at a badge, he feels considerably more well-prepared. He’s trained his Pokemon more thoroughly, taught them non-Fire-type moves that would be better than “not very effective” against Grantaire’s Pokemon. Not super effective, but an improvement nonetheless.

And Enjolras loves his Pokemon, he does, because they’re almost fearless and they’re walking back into the gym with him even after the embarrassing defeat of a few weeks ago. He’d never force them to against their wills, doesn’t believe in that inhumane sort of Pokemon training, and it’s a credit to them that they’re with him anyway.

He thinks he’s ready, but once he’s inside the door he’s met by something infinitely more terrifying than a massive pool full of Water Pokemon.

Because there’s what appears to be a small child, fully clothed, not in the water, and snarling in his direction not ten feet from him.

“You have to be kidding me,” Enjolras groans, and just avoids putting his head in his hands in preemptive defeat.

“You’ll be battling me before you get to Grantaire! He won’t waste his time with amateurs!” the small child calls out to him, and reaches for one of the Pokeballs at his belt. As he tosses it, a Machop emerges ready to fight.

Enjolras wonders if offering the kid candy will make him go away, or maybe a coloring book. Kids like coloring books, right? Then again, perhaps he ought to lecture the youth on Pokemon rights, and the abusive use of Pokeballs. But then he hears from the other side of the gym—

“Leave him alone, Gavroche! I know this one. He’s allowed through.” And Grantaire is walking toward them both—walking, not swimming, and fully clothed in shorts and a  _shirt_  thank  _god_ , with a towel slung around his shoulders—shrugging and looking somewhat abashed. He’s looking at Enjolras as he adds, “Sorry. My friend’s younger brother. I’m meant to be giving him some practice before he goes off into the big scary world alone.” Here he fakes an overdramatic sniffle, and cuffs Gavroche around the neck.

The boy pushes Grantaire’s arm off of him and looks up at him with wide-eyed admiration. “I was going to kick his ass,” Gavroche says earnestly, and Grantaire just has to ruffle his hair.

“But we don’t want to embarrass him a second time,” Enjolras hears Grantaire say, and clenches his jaw.

“I’m more prepared, this time,” Enjolras says, speaking up for himself. “I could beat him.”

“Congratulations, Enjolras, you could defeat a ten year old,” Grantaire says dryly.

Enjolras startles at that. “You know my name?”

Grantaire shrugs. “I know Combeferre.” Then he cranes his neck, to look at the group of Pokemon crowded behind Enjolras. “You don’t  _look_  more prepared this time. All Fire Pokemon again? Really?”

Enjolras raises his head defiantly. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Gavroche looking endlessly amused.

“Does Joly know you’re here? Shall I call him, let him know you’ll be needing his services again?” Grantaire seems to be torn between frustration and—judging by the look on his face—some sort of strange, irrepressible fondness.

The second time, Enjolras manages to knock out Grantaire’s Magikarp, before being soundly defeated himself.

…..

“You know, I think she likes me,” Grantaire tells him, as they’re waiting at the Pokemon Center. Joly is busy seeing to another set of patients, so they’ve seated themselves in a pair of plastic chairs to wait their turn. Well, Enjolras’s turn. Grantaire is only here because he once again professes to feel bad.

He has the Vulpix in his charge again, cradled on his lap. And although Grantaire is a part of the reason why her fur is wet and she can’t stop shivering with cold—his statement does seem to hold true, judging by the way she’s nuzzling against the palm of his hand and squealing.

Enjolras narrows his eyes at the pair of them.  _Traitor_ , he thinks about Vulpix, but suspects it might be petty to call her that aloud, even teasingly. Meanwhile, Arcanine is slumped over his own lap, drooling on his knee. Just like last time, none of them are badly hurt, and Enjolras supposes he can be grudgingly grateful for that.

Once Joly finishes tending to a paralyzed Pidgey, he goes to help Enjolras, shaking his head in disapproval. “Can you just  _not_?” he asks Enjolras, exasperated. “I thought you would’ve learned after your first try.”

Enjolras has the decency to look ashamed, this time, and looks down at the top of Arcanine’s fluffy head instead of meeting Joly’s disappointed face, which happens to be even worse than Combeferre’s certainly-not-smug face.

He feels Grantaire nudge his foot, looks up at the Gym Leader’s sympathetic, encouraging smile, before quickly glancing back down again, and clutching harder to his Pokemon’s fur.

…..

Enjolras finally gives in and goes to Jehan for help.

They’ve been excellent friends, ever since Enjolras defeated him at the Celadon Gym ages ago and won the Rainbow Badge from him. It had been a relatively simple battle, Enjolras’s Fire-type Pokemon against Jehan’s Grass-type, and Jehan had been a gracious loser, as well as intrigued by Enjolras’s disdain for Pokeballs, and thoughts on Pokemon rights.

He almost feels shy, when it comes to asking for help, because one of the things Enjolras has always prided himself on is  _getting shit done_  entirely on his own, and doing so in a way that doesn’t compromise who he is—in this case, a giant fireball of destruction and victory, which is very unfortunately weak to water.

Of course, Jehan is eager to help, not that Enjolras expected anything less.

So he helps him to catch an Oddish, and they go from there.

…..

He feels ready this time, really, he does, although he hopes he isn’t deceiving himself like he apparently was the last two times he tried this. Enjolras strides confidently into the Cerulean Gym, already planning for whatever Grantaire will decide to snark at him this time.

“Gym Leader’s out,” a dark-haired girl says, as soon as Enjolras closes the door behind him. She’s lounging on a neon purple inflatable mattress and wearing sunglasses even though they’re inside of a building. There’s an Ekans beside her, perched on a matching flotation device. “He’ll be back in a few weeks, or so he says. He’s not the best at keeping track of time.”

Enjolras feels something of him sink—and it has nearly nothing to do with having to put off attaining his Cascade Badge for another three weeks. Which is rather jarring actually, leaving Enjolras to wonder why he’s frowning so hard and suddenly welling with disappointment.

The girl must look at him, then, because she pushes her sunglasses down the bridge of her nose to stare for a few moments, before grinning broadly.

“ _Oh_ ,” she says, as though she’s just realized something very important. “You must be  _him_.” And she exchanges a knowing glance with her Ekans.

“Who?”

She waves a hand. “Nothing, nothing. I’ll let Grantaire know that you stopped by when he gets back from his silly little swimming vacation. Trust me, he’ll be  _very_  happy.”

There seems to be some sort of secret meaning in her words that she expects Enjolras to know, judging by the knowing stare she’s now giving him. But at Enjolras’s continued look of confusion, she rolls her eyes and pushes her sunglasses back up.

“Never mind. You’re both dumb as hell. Come back in a few weeks.”

…..

And those few weeks seem to drag on forever. He remains mostly in Cerulean City—staying with Joly, Bossuet, and Musichetta—just in case Grantaire comes back early. Because it’s important for him to get his badge, of course, now that he’s got the proper Pokemon on his team to help him win it. No other reason to wait for Grantaire, not at all.

When three weeks is officially up—not that Enjolras has been keeping track—he heads back to the gym, and exhales with a sigh of relief when he sees that Grantaire is, indeed, inside.

“Miss me?” Grantaire asks, from where he’s thrown the bare, upper half of his body over his friend’s abandoned floatie, content to kick around the pool just like that. He looks tired, wearing dark circles under his eyes and exhaustion in the lines of his shoulders.

“No,” Enjolras scoffs, and tilts his head. “Well. Only because your absence has been keeping me from defeating you.”

Grantaire doubtfully raises an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“Yes.” And Enjolras is grinning stupidly, because he’s proud of himself, for finally compromising and befriending Pokemon who aren’t Fire-types. And this time he’s going to win. “See?” He gestures to the group of Pokemon behind him. Some of his Fire Pokemon are still there, of course, Vulpix for example, especially because she seems to like Grantaire so much. But there are a few Grass-type Pokemon, too, including the sprightly Oddish he first caught with Jehan’s guidance.

And Grantaire, bless him, does look impressed, even as he says, “See, if you used Pokeballs, you definitely would’ve caught me by surprise.”

“You know, it’s very irresponsible for a Gym Leader to just go gallivanting off into the wild,” Enjolras hears himself saying, lecturing, and ignoring Grantaire’s sass entirely. “You’re meant to stay here, fight with other trainers, right? Don’t you take your job seriously? What if you had gotten hurt?”

Grantaire blinks up at him in vague shock. “Is this your rather harsh way of telling me that you did miss me?”

Enjolras rolls his eyes, struggles to hold back a smile. “Are you going to battle me, or not?”

“All right, all right.” Grantaire rolls over onto his back to float more easily, and Enjolras catches himself  _staring_  again. “But go easy on me, would you?”

…..

“You didn’t have to come to the Pokemon Center with me, you know,” Grantaire tells him between breaths, his chest heaving.

“You never would’ve gotten your Gyarados here without me to help you carry him, would you have?” Enjolras rejoins, collapsing in one of the waiting room chairs.

“That is one of the benefits of Pokeballs, I think. Easy transportation. I probably ought to invest in some if I’m going to get my ass kicked like that again.”

Enjolras isn’t too exhausted to glare haughtily at him, though he gives up on it when Grantaire just smirks in response.

“I hardly kicked your ass. I was only down to Vulpix when I defeated you.” She’s slinking around their ankles, now, the only one of both of their Pokemon who doesn’t need to be seen by Joly.

“Yeah, yeah.”

They sit in companionable silence for a few minutes, then, until Grantaire adds: “Does this mean you’ll be moving on? Out of Cerulean City and onto further adventures, never to return?”

“Probably,” Enjolras says. “But I’m in Celadon every week. My friends and I have meetings, about how to spread the message of Pokemon rights. At my friend Jehan’s gym.”

Grantaire’s eyes light up at that. “I know Jehan!”

“You should come to our meetings. Meet everyone else.” Enjolras feels awkward all of sudden, hot and sweating everywhere, wonders if he was soaking wet and in nothing but a pair of shorts like Grantaire, he might be more comfortable.

And now he’s thinking about being mostly naked with Grantaire and that is  _not helping at all_.

He clears his throat.

“We could see each other more often that way.”

It’s somewhat reassuring when he sees that Grantaire is blushing too, as he agrees.

…..

(In the end, inviting Grantaire to Important and Serious Meetings turns out to be possibly one of the biggest mistakes of Enjolras’s life, but the kissing that always happens afterwards more than makes up for it.)

 


End file.
